


Like You Want the World to Burn

by decomposing_brain



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Billy Hargrove & Eleven | Jane Hopper Friendship, Billy Hargrove Being an Asshole, Billy Hargrove Is Bad at Feelings, Billy Hargrove Needs a Hug, Billy Hargrove Redemption, Billy Hargrove is Not Possessed, Billy Hargrove knows about the upside down, Canon Rewrite, Depression, Emotionally Constipated Boys, Good Parent Jim "Chief" Hopper, Insomnia, M/M, Protective Billy Hargrove, Recreational Drug Use, Robin Buckley & Steve Harrington Friendship, Steve And Billy Are Friends, Steve Harrington & Dustin Henderson Friendship, Steve Harrington Is a Mess, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug, Suicidal Thoughts, The Upside Down, Underage Drinking, rewrite of season 4, the russians - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 05:40:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28808223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/decomposing_brain/pseuds/decomposing_brain
Summary: Billy remembers a too wide ocean and a red smile. There's driftwood piled to the left of him, a fashioned lump of bark that promises use no one will ever get out of it. The sun is as hot and present as it ever was, almost too bright but then the sea would rise instead of lengthen, spread through the sun and douse it in water. He understands that the sun and the sea mix, that you cannot have one without the other and in his most private moments he will forget about weakness and fire that burns. He will think of the way a sun looks when its misty with salt, there, bright and present but dappled by its counterpart. Once, the tabletop in front of him was sticky with whiskey and unsaid words. 'What a pair we make', he thinks and then hears, softly in his mother's voice, 'I promised you that the sun would rise again'. He looks up at Steve.OrA rewrite of season 4 where Billy finds out about the Upside Down but not through his own supernatural possession, tries to deal with the mess that is Steve Harrington, his asshole kids (along with Billy's own sister) crazy Russians and little girls with superpowers, only to kind of, maybe, realize what life is worth while he's at it.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington, Jonathan Byers/Nancy Wheeler, Joyce Byers/Jim "Chief" Hopper
Comments: 4
Kudos: 81





	Like You Want the World to Burn

He wouldn’t call them ‘friends’ per se, but after the last couple of months they had come to a sort of agreement. Acknowledging nods in the hall, a few pats on the back, the occasional unmentioned coping mechanism, and Billy established, dare he say, a relationship with the former King of Hawkins.

It had all been Steve’s fault really. Billy wasn’t looking for new friends, but he was walking back home with blood pooling in the collar of his shirt and a burnt cigarette lingering on the edge of his lips. Of all people of fucking course Steve Harrington had to be the one to find him. 

“Hey.” Steve’s car dwindled as he hitched an elbow out of the side of his front window. And Billy? Billy was having the worst night of his life - which was saying a lot considering how terrible said life normally was. He hadn’t slept a wink, and so the boy was exhausted, flustered and quite frankly all together freaked out. In response, he did little more than twitch at the gruff sound of Steve’s voice, “Hey, man.” Steve repeated, a little more nasally like he was starting to whine. When Billy stayed silent he continued, “Hargrove, you okay?”

Billy stopped, finally looking over at Harrington. His hair was mussed up, like he had just woken up, dark circles consuming the underneath of his eyes - something Billy had noticed getting consistently worse ever since _that_ day. Harrington’s gaze remained settled on Billy’s face. It was hard to miss the ruffled appearance Harrington was sporting but what was even harder to miss was the nail decorated bat Billy was oh-so-familiar with, and the presence of concern behind his wide, Bambi eyes.

“The fuck you want Harrington?” Billy was all bark but no bite, voice weary as he stumbled on the oil stained tar of the road. Sue him. He was tired, it was 3 AM, and he was half sure he had just been hallucinating. Billy gathered a ball of saliva in his mouth and spat it onto the ground. 

“Look man, you just-” Steve’s cursed under his breath as Billy continued to walk, and he pushed the gas down ever so slightly, “-you don’t look so hot right now.” Billy huffed at that, took a look at Steve’s own bedraggled appearance and took another step forward. Steve’s car followed, “Why are you walking out here?” 

“Fuck off Harrington.” Billy said, waving a floppily dismissive hand at Harrington’s figure. 

It was quiet for a few moments, the silence only night could bring about muddling with the stir of a too expensive car engine. Steve finally broke, jerking Billy out of his own fuzzy thoughts, “Lemmie give you a ride.” Billy stumbled. He half expected to find Harrington sneering at him when he looked up but instead the boy was staring at him with an earnest, open expression. Billy could still see the hints of an old, too familiar, bruise ringed around his eye, and not for the first time he wondered just how much of an idiot the other boy was. 

But then Steve stopped the car and Billy could feel his own feet stalling. Somewhere behind him an owl crooned and Billy jumped. The stars seemed awfully faint in the sky above him. Steve was still watching him with his usual dumb, dopey, earnest expression so the blond sighed, tugged on the loop of his jeans and nodded - not meeting Steve’s eyes.

His gaze pointedly continued to avoid Steve’s as he climbed into the passenger seat. Steve tapped a few slender fingers against the wheel, the low thrum of the crooning engine getting louder as he pressed down on the gas and sped up. Finally, Steve’s voice cut across the space between their seats,“Do you.. Uh, wanna talk about it?” Steve’s voice was hesitant and unsure. 

Billy barely wanted to dignify the question with a response, thoroughly confused and a bit off put at the almost therapeutic gesture Steve was offering, “About what?” He angled a numb hand toward the vents on Steve’s dashboard.

“Uh-” Steve swerved a little, not from being startled but from what Billy simply supposed was habit and bad driving, “about why you’re walking around in the middle of the night,” He said it simply, like Billy wasn’t the only one giving suspicious looks to the dark. Billy scoffed. Fucking King of Hawkins right here. Offering his services up to the big bad wolf. _That’s what makes him so weak._

He tilted the vent in front of him so that a burst of warm air hit his torso before he spoke, “Look I’m already letting you play good samaritan, taking me home and shit,” the words were still biting, defensive through his fatigue, “I’m fine, and unless you wanna explain why you’re out here at ass o’clock driving around like some creeper then fuckin’ drop it.” And with that, he thought, the peace (or whatever uneasy tension they had accomplished here) should be kept. Steve’s mouth snapped shut, an instant reaction like the one you get when you touch a too hot stove. Billy relaxed further into the leather, almost letting himself regret the callous nature of his words, if only because he missed how stupid Steve’s nose looked when he scrunched it up to speak. But this, quiet, suppressing his feelings, this was how he got by. He didn’t need the dumbass that he nearly killed mere months ago pretending to be a hero. 

But then, Steve cleared his throat, throwing absolutely no caution to the wind and started talking, “I, uh.. I couldn’t sleep. Kept hearing these noises outside. Actually I haven't been able to sleep for a while now, and… I uh, get nightmares too,” the other boy’s nose wrinkled on the uptick of his vowels, “driving around just makes me feel safe. I’m not just stuck in one place this way,” Steve’s knuckles were white as he gripped the wheel tighter and Billy stilled, took time to let the words settle. He was sitting in a car, with Steve fucking Harrington, who was pouring his heart out to Billy, allowing himself to be vulnerable in the face of the last person he should want to ever expose his soft underbelly too. _Maybe Red Riding Hood actually was that stupid._

“S’ lame.” Billy mumbled, for the lack of something better to say, ignoring the way his fathers voice was screaming, _weak, weak, he’s weak_ in the back of his mind. 

Steve huffed, “Don’t I know it,” and then, “so uh, I mean I told you why I was driving around like a ‘creep’,” pink spread it’s way across Steve’s cheeks, as he removed one hand from the wheel to jerk two fingers up and down. Some unknown force inside Billy ached to brush a hand across the painted flush while something else beckoned him to jump out of the moving vehicle, “I mean you don’t have to tell me, it’s… it’s not… I just mean that if you wanna talk about it, uhm you can talk to me.” Steve trailed off, stiffly putting both hands back in their previous position.

Billy wanted to yell, wanted to grab Harrington by the cuffs on his shirt and shake him, wanted to ask him what the fuck was wrong with him. _This is why I hurt you._ He clenched and unclenched a cold fist. _You’re too soft. Plant your feet or everyone else will hurt you too._ But then he glanced over at the way Steve was trembling, thought of how he walked through school hallways like he was waiting for his own grave to be dug, remembered the way his skin molded underneath Billy’s hard fists and cracked porcelain. His mind stumbled, painfully unstuck itself, and slowly, stupidly, like he confused his own role in the fairytale, he took one small metaphorical step towards Steve’s doe eyes. _I hurt you because you’re soft like I am._

“I was driving,” Billy paused, opting to leave out the more detailed, slightly illegal parts of his excursion, “and something hit my car, which is fucked now by the way, and I saw this… thing,” Steve made a sound prompting him to go on, “it looked like a big lizard? Kinda.” Billy felt like an idiot. He dropped his arms that he hadn’t realized had been gesturing wildly around the limited space. Suddenly the car went still, jerking Billy’s knees up against the dashboard, and bumping a tanned shoulder against cold glass, “What the fuck Harrington?” He swiveled his head around to once again look at Steve, taking note of the empty expanse of road they had stopped on. 

Steve was staring straight ahead, pale and white like he had seen a ghost, knuckles grasping even harder on the wheel of the now unmoving car. “Lizard?” He questioned, voice two octaves higher than normal. 

Billy hesitated at the genuinely terrified look Steve now had on his face. “I mean.. I guess.” 

“Fuck.” Steve whispered, voice breaking near the end. The car then was wordlessly, reversed, and turned away from the direction of Billy’s home, as Steve’s hands started to shake more violently, and _no. Don’t let him drag you down too._

“Where the fuck are you going Harrington?” He flailed an arm out, scrabbling at the impenetrable hold Steve seemed to have on the wheel. Steve’s mouth remained a thin line as Billy made another aborted movement to reach over and stop the car. 

“Just-” Steve slapped Billy’s hand away, looking panicked. “Just we need to go to the Byers house, Okay?”

“The fuck-” Billy’s struggling continued, grunting, “Listen Harrington I don’t know if you hit your head or something but I am _not_ going to that fucking freak house.”

Steve’s reaction was instantaneous, protective, like the catching of a spark on too dry wood- the King has arrived ladies and gentlemen, “Don’t call them that,” before his voice softened, eyes turning big and simple, “I… okay. Just. Tell me exactly what you saw. Please,”

Billy growled, stupid, soft, too simple, like him, but tamped down on the consuming urge to yank Steve’s hand off of the wheel and began describing the lizard-like beast that had smashed into his car. The sharp slimy teeth that had opened up like one of those venus fly trap plants. The cold trail of grease it left smeared over the hood of his car. It was indescribable, like nothing he had ever seen before, so unreal he wondered if the cigarette he smoked had been laced with something, and it had scared the ever loving fuck out of him. In a world of hopelessness and too big flames that you could never control, there was more. Steve’s increasingly horrified reaction only verified that. 

“Okay.” The other boy was outwardly shaking now, teeth coming together in a rattle that Billy knew wasn’t from the cold, and Billy thought quickly, wildly that he looked anything but okay. The brunette became even more immobile, hesitant, almost like he didn’t know how to phrase what he was going to say next. Like he knew the words but didn’t know if he should say them, or if Billy even wanted to hear them. 

And Billy, he knew that look. It was the same look he had when he had been back in California, had seen a kid with his face muddled in purple, and a rough fatherly hand yanking him forward. The same one he had when Steve flinched at nothing but the dark. It was the look of someone who was already familiar with pain, with fear, with whatever the fuck was going on right now, and- “you know what that thing was, don’t you?” He said.

“I-”

Billy cut him off, “What was it?”

Steve was quiet for a moment. He still had that scared caution lacing his eyes, “Look Billy I-”

“Am I gonna have to threaten you pretty boy? Because I sure as fuck would like to know why my car is now in literal pieces on the side of the road and I’m not out getting laid.” Steve hand slipped just barely off of the wheel. 

“Getting laid?” 

Billy restrained himself from whacking the back of Steve’s head, “Not part of the point right now, Harrington.”

Steve cleared his throat, “Right, well,” his knee bumped against the underside of the dashboard, anxiety roping through his body, and then, for one surprising moment his hands were loose, decisive, “I can’t tell you. At least not yet.” _Not when I don’t trust you,_ Billy heard. 

Billy took the easy confidence with which Steve had denied him and let it fuel his anger, let it consume him and fill him to the brim until he was spitting with fire. That’s what Steve did to him, had always done to him. _You can’t have two kings in one palace,_ “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” 

But Steve, with his death wish and the odd way he was more scared of losing track of stars at night than people continued, “Can I-” he broke off, rerouted some synapse in his brain, “please just come to the Byers with me? And I promise I’ll tell you,” Billy clenched and unclenched a fist, let his eyes slide over to the window and tried to imagine what Steve was so scared of. The only thing his mind could come back with was a hoard of those lizards, a writhing, scaly crowd that promised death in the ripple of their jaws. 

“Thats- what the fuck are they gonna say about it?”

Steve looked over, took his eyes off the road for the first time since he had started driving, heaved out a sigh. His face was open, almost begging, but with that same stubbornness he usually had, like Steve was resigned to his own decision just as he was to the fact that Billy was still in his car, “They know a thing or two about monsters,” his voice was a whisper now, light and chilling, and Billy fidgeted with the vent again, “I think you do too.” Billy’s head flashed red with fire, and pressure and too much anger. He wanted nothing more than to bowl Steve over, to leave coal and burnt wood of his own making. The fight hadn’t left Steve yet, was always nipping at his heels but ever since their last encounter Steve had been more docile. He was like a puppy that didn’t know his place in a new house, fumbling around with sweet eyes and soft feet. They both knew, as they sat within the space harboring contempt and fear, hisses of air spitting from slits of metal that Billy would take him down, would fill him with wind and rubble as he destroyed the very foundation of his person. _Weak, weak, he’s so weak._ He stared. _Hurt him, give in, hurt him._ He threw his hands up in the air. _There’s no such thing as royalty in Indiana._

“Fucking fine.” He growled. Steve kept driving. 

Looking back on their actions they should have prepared themselves a little more for the battlefield that was the Byer’s household. The two crashed throught the front door and, because Billy’s life was and always had been a joke, Steve’s band of fucking kids whipped around to stare at them like they had grown two heads or something - like they were that fucking lizard Billy had seen earlier.

“What. In. The. Fuck. Steve.” Some chubby faced kid Billy vaguely recognized with a mop of curls scowled at Steve, letting each word hit heavily, before directing the glare at Billy. The Wheeler kid looked similarly ready to dive on top of Steve, face going comically red and shoulders tensing for a fight while Sinclair and freak junior were shrinking back with terror scrawled across their expressions. In the corner Max, fucking Max, narrowed her eyes at Billy in an intense glare. Billy figured he deserved that reaction. Whatever. 

“Alright, alright calm down dude.” Steve held up two placating hands. “Hopper’s here right?” The kids ignored him.

“What’s he doing here?” Wheeler’s eyes were just furious slits as he spoke, “he tried to kill us!” Billy shifted on his feet. He felt the telltale sign of embers getting hot, rumbling low like the revving of Steve’s too loud car engine. He had known it was a bad idea to come here, to have these fucking toddlers look at him like he was some homicidal serial killer. Listening to Steve Harrington had never gotten him into anything but trouble - not that he had ever really taken the time to listen before. 

“He’s not going to kill us,” Steve hastened a wary glance at Billy, like he wasn’t actually quite sure before turning back to the ragtag group in front of him, and setting his jaw like he had in the car, “anymore.”

The curly kid was up now, hands flailing wildly around, “we literally had to sedate him Steve!” 

“Dustin.” Steve’s tone was lower now, almost terrifying and Billy hadn’t heard that empty threat of timbre in a while. It made a shiver move slowly down his spine. Defenseless Stevie wasn’t quite so defenseless afterall, “something hit his car.”

“Something?” Dustin drew the word out long and slow before his face went comedically startled, “ _something,_ something?” Those two words were enough to ignite a panic. The four others made the same distinctly distorted face, erupting into a jumble of chaos that Billy had now, somehow found himself in the middle of. 

Billy still stood awkwardly behind Steve, hating how he had been corralled to the sidelines, and irritated at the way they were ignoring him, answered Dustin’s frantic question himself, “Yes something, something. Big fucking lizard something.” He watched as each set of eyes grew wide and alarmed, “now does someone want to tell me what’s going on before we have a repeat of last time,” He almost choked on the threat, but forced it out despite the curl of bile in his gut. It sounded much less menacing than it had a month ago, something that Steve seemed to pick up on. Harrington’s mouth went taut with an expression that could easily be understood to mean _shut the fuck up asshole,_ as everyone else exploded into violent conversation. At one particularly heated moment Dustin threatened to go get Hopper’s gun himself and was met with an even more heated response from Steve, 

“Oh my god,” Steve had moved to tower over the younger boys, now gesturing sporadically like the curly kid, Dustin, had done moments before, “can you guys just listen to me for one goddamn minute?” He lowered his voice as the others all did the same, “if this really is what we think it is then he might need to know. He’s already been involved once,” Just like that the protests were back, immense and reckless as was everything Billy assumed happened within these four walls. 

It was too much at once and he couldn’t make out a single voice until finally the gap toothed one spoke loud and clear, “No Steve.” 

“Yes Steve,” Steve hissed back and once again Billy noted how tired the other man looked, “it’s not your decision. You guys still need fucking babysitters and depends,” Billy couldn’t resist the snort that escaped his mouth, and Steve shot him a warning glance, as the kids grumbled their last remnants of distaste. Billy thought about the huge lizard and how his car was still upturned on a fucking backroad and flipped Steve off because fuck him, “is Hopper here or not?” Steve finished, once again ignoring Billy.

Finally, _finally,_ Max answered the question Steve had asked minutes ago, shooting a wary glance at Billy from beneath her mess of red braids, “he’s out back with Joyce,” 

Billy looked over to see Steve doing something that he assumed was meant to calm himself down, nose flaring, and hands patting softly at his jeans, “Ok,” He took a breath, “I’m going to go talk to him. Let him know what’s going on. You all,” Steve motioned towards the group, Billy included, “stay here,” Steve ignored the plaintive protests from the four boys who were now staring dejectedly at Steve like he was their mom, abandoning them at a whorehouse. Max picked at a nail protruding from the janky wooden floor. 

He turned toward Billy then and the blond was delighted to find a hint of old danger laced in the way Harrinton held himself, “Don’t forget that I still keep that bat in my car,” He threatened, leaving Billy to think of nails and smashed plates and the hearty scent of adrenaline, before turning to walk out of the door. 

It was silent for a few minutes, the aroma of what Billy had done and fear so tangible he could swallow it, stinking up the room. He deserved the flinches, even the cold hearted glares, but it wasn’t like he was going to do anything now. Not when he was tired, and beat up from the wreck, and the chief of police was ten feet away. Not when he sometimes wished Maxine would look at him with something other than disgust and fear. Not when he was already fucking sorry for even touching the mess that was Harrington and his minions.

Billy pulled out his pack of cigs, fished around for his lighter and pretended four gremlins weren’t sitting on the ground staring up at him like he was Ted Bundy.

“You can’t smoke in here.” One of them said, the curly, stubborn one, because of course he would be that sort of annoying. 

Billy’s hand gripped around the lighter in his pocket, pulled it out and flicked. The wheel spun, glinting metal. Afterall, he was still Billy Hargrove. He wouldn’t hit a kid again, not without reason, but he could damn well calm his nerves with the sweet buzz of nicotine. He found the end of the stub with ease, let the lit flame hit it and blew out a long drag of smoke before he responded, “what, you want one?” He extended his hand out patronizingly, knowing the boy would refuse. He got no response, could still see the way the younger boys were regarding him with all the trust of a feral cat. Relaxing back against the doorframe Billy took several more pulls before dropping the stub to the ground and stamping down on it. 

Steve returned after a few more minutes of tense silence with Hopper and Joyce in tow. The boys had taken to whispering quietly, shooting uncertain eyes towards Billy. He had never thought he could be happier to see Steve fucking Harrington. 

“Billy, I-uh,” Steve stuttered a little bit, hesitating and looking back at Hopper who nodded decisively. Billy hadn’t ever been able to get a read on the Chief, had always felt uneasy about the way the older man seemed to regard him like he knew, like he understood. It creeped Billy the fuck out, and he didn’t even have that much of a problem with Police. It was just Hopper, buff and beefy, pretending like he gave a shit about some kid with too many unmentionable injuries and affinity for crime, “we can go outside to talk,” Steve finished.

They sat outside on the porch a few feet apart. It was colder than California here. Almost felt like the wind was trying to bite you, the freezing feeling trying to force itself underneath your clothes and into your lungs. It figured that the weather was just as suffocating here as everything else. Billy took out another cigarette to calm his nerves and wordlessly, almost as an afterthought, handed one to Steve. Some douchey statement about the bonds of shared trauma rested on the tip of his tongue and their fingers touched lightly as Steve took it. Billy waited while he took a drag and then the other boy started speaking. He was quiet, spoke so softly that Billy could barely hear him and Billy almost felt like he was keeping his voice down because he was afraid there was someone, something listening.

His hands started shivering like they had in the car, but his tone was steady as he talked. It was like he had practiced the story, maybe had to retell it to someone else but what he saw in Steve’s eyes was nothing but honesty and terror. It was insane, something you would tell a little kid to scare them off from going into the woods alone. Stories of monsters and another world, and a laboratory with whackjob experiments, and a little girl with crazy superpowers, and people dying. Stories that Billy couldn’t even fathom being anything other than the imagination of a mad man. It was batshit, completely off the walls crazy. 

The craziest thing though was that for some reason, when he looked at Steve, when he saw the nights he hadn’t slept, and the damage, and the stress hidden under his skin Billy believed every single word he said.

Steve finished, and two other cigarettes had joined the first one on the damp earth, “You’re shitting me right now.” Billy said, but his own voice was laced with resignation to the truth, embarrassingly shaky in it’s conviction. He knew, had known when that fucking lizard, demodog? Showed up in front of his car, had known as soon as Steve started talking all flightful and wrong, that he was in fact, not shitting him. 

“I wish I was,” An ember sparked on the ground and Steve stamped in out with his foot. It’s quiet and Billy takes the silence to think, mulling Steve’s words around in his head. He doesn’t really understand why they chose to trust him, and supposes that maybe he was the only other person batshit enough to believe it. An added bit of muscle against the supernatural they had been fighting for years. Or maybe they were scared of what he would do if they didn’t tell him the truth. He lights up another cigarette. 

“I’m gonna kill Max for not telling me this shit,” He finally says, a little bit because he was frustrated with the whole thing but more because he didn’t really know what else to say. 

“You actually believe me?” 

Billy stared down, wished Steve had let the ember ignite into fire and burn them down with it so maybe then he wouldn’t have to deal with this reality. The night was closing on them and now Billy was just as wary of the dark as Steve was, so, instead of saying ‘ _fuck no’_ instead of driving off with Steve’s car and shouts of ‘ _you’re fucking insane Harrington,’_ Billy echoed Steve’s earlier sentiments, “I wish I didn’t.”

The first time Billy saw Steve after that he threw up on the drive home. Had to pull over after dropping Harrington off and hurl with shaky hands, and a heartbeat that couldn’t stop pushing up against his chest. 

It was the introduction of his newly repaired camaro into the world, his initial drive back into being Billy Hargrove. He had it taken into the shop, had avoided his dad by staying out late, leaving early, and had promised Jake, the local mechanic, to work for free to pay off the price. It was easy to fill his time with grease and car parts when that meant staying away from his home. Within a month he was out, had his beloved baby roaring back to life underneath his hands. It was cause for celebration, so he swiped a bottle of Jack, climbed into his camaro and let himself feel alive.

He should have known a celebration never came without a surprise. He nearly swerved off the side of the road when he had glimpsed Steve at the quarry looking down, and so overcome with shock, his hand slid, the wheels skidded. Steve was standing so ominously close to the edge Billy thought the next gust of wind would blow him over. 

He parked the car and got out without much thought. Steve finally flinched at the slam of the door. 

“What the fuck are you doing Harrington?” He called out, hesitantly leaning a hand against the camaro, for stability or effect he wasn’t sure. There was something like rage trapped inside of him, only this time it was more gripping, less demanding to hurt and more crying out to protect. 

Steve took a step back and he felt a piece of that feeling fall away, “Just looking,” he replied, wind carrying the sound. His shaking hands were visible from five feet away. 

“Well shit, if that doesn’t sound creepy.” 

Steve huffed some semblance of a laugh in response. His back was a shadow against the navy backdrop of the sky, stars stopping abruptly where he started. It was almost beautiful, cinematic even, when he said, “I feel claustrophobic here.” 

Billy understood. He felt trapped with nothing but cornfields and fire and evil lurking creatures. Ever since he had learned about the enigma that was Hawkins he couldn’t sleep without twitching awake, felt like food was just a way to get by. Even cigarettes didn’t fill him with the dull lulling sense of calm they once had. It was terrifying to know that monsters weren’t just human. The only solstice he could get was from hunkering down and praying this town didn’t turn him into a monster too. And yet, despite all connotations of the word fear pleading with him to run, Billy was here standing in the middle of bumfuck Indiana, letting monsters and emotions and a fear of the dark from a boy that he had shared nothing more than cigarettes and stippled conversation wash over him. He thought for a second that perhaps they were both on a ledge. He just wasn’t foolish enough to run towards it. 

Maybe Harrington thought it was easier to tell someone who he hated all of the things he hated about himself. Maybe he wanted someone to agree with him, to tell him he was right and he should just take the plunge. That might have been why it seemed to make sense when the next words out of Steve’s mouth were, “At least this way I wouldn’t have to die because of a monster. Or in fear. I would be in control. I can control this.”

And Billy, hating the way the quiet echoed, and not really wanting to hear what else Steve could say, offered the only thing he could, the thing Steve had offered him just nights ago, “you wanna ride?”

“I-uh,” Steve turned to face him now, took another step away from the curve of cliff, as Billy inhaled deeply, “yeah?” It was like talking to a baby deer, all long limbed and doe eyed and skittish as fuck. 

“That a question? I don’t see your car around here.” He gestured around the empty lot that only his car filled. 

“Yeah I walked.” 

“You walked.”

“Nice night isn’t it?” Billy looked around them, took in the shadows teasing them with mystery, the wind relentless as it crooned overtop of them, the foreboding smell of a storm and electricity in the air. The night was evil, and deluded and it sure as hell wasn’t nice, but Billy supposed Steve wasn’t actually looking for nice right now. 

He couldn’t really feel the shape of what was coming out of his mouth, just knew it would keep coming, anything to get Steve to back away from whatever intangible feelings Billy had been running from his whole life, “well unless you wanna walk again, I’ll take you home Harrington,” Billy moved off of his car, took one simple step towards the other boy. Steve shuddered like he could finally feel how cold it was, and nodded limply. 

“Well, it doesn’t sound like that much fun now. Does it?” Steve said. Billy could feel the dark like it was a person, cold and calculated, waiting to strike while they were out in the open. It seemed like a part of it had already gotten to Steve. Like Steve was already half gone, consumed with more of the inky swirl of fear than Billy had once thought. It was almost enough for the infectious feeling to spread, seeing the once King, looking so subdued, so fragile, like he thought the promise of the sun rising was a fantasy.

Even the moon didn’t seem like a comfort anymore, so Billy agreed, said, “No. It actually sounds fucking insane,” and opened the passenger door. 

The ride to Steve’s was quiet except for the whisper of directions and the low hum of the wind in cracked metal that could never be fixed. The lights in Steve’s house were off, a parallel of the shadows outside that had wormed their way into Harrington’s very being. Steve turned to him, “I wasn’t really going to.”he said so softly that Billy could almost believe him, “I know I’m fucked up, but don’t worry, ok?” Billy scoffed at that because Billy Hargrove didn’t worry. He still couldn’t help it that when Steve got out of the car, stood up on shaky legs and promised to see him the next day at school, Billy couldn’t fight the tightening around his throat that came from the thought that Steve may have never been able to make that promise if Billy had gotten to the quarry five minutes later. 

He drove away with thoughts of monsters, and death, and Steve running through his head and before he knew it he was stopping his car on the side of the road, trying to keep down nerves and that night’s dinner. It was too much to see the way Steve danced around life, there, but not quite living it. Too much to watch a world burn with everyone still inside of it.  
He didn’t sleep much that night, but the next day Steve kept his promise. 

Over the following months, while Billy was still very much in the dark on most things concerning Harrington (albeit a little less than before), he had become associated with the idea of Steve being friendly towards him. They would have short conversations while Steve was rubbing his hair dry after practice, Billy trying hard to avoid looking at the lean lines of his body and Steve obliviously babbling about whatever new thing he was obsessed with. Billy found out quickly that Steve was a talker - would run his mouth about anything. Apparently, like Billy had once mused over between a lit cigarette, sharing a glimpse of what darkness was, what it could do, with the other boy had caused Steve to latch on to Billy. Not that Billy was really complaining. He couldn’t actually bring himself to when he got to categorize and understand each of Steve’s laughs, got to watch the way his eyes lit up when he talked about the kids or some new dorky fact Dustin had no doubt told him. It was easy to let himself revel in the glow of Steve’s attention, to ignore the chill of disgust at the way he breathed in pale fingers and floppy hair like oxygen when he was sitting right next to him.

In return for Steve’s kindness Billy watched him. Took note of days when the bags under the other’s eyes overwhelmed him, when the jitters in his hands got too hard for even teachers to ignore. On those days Billy would talk, would tell him in short staccato sentences that carried a taunting undercurrent about California, and how fucked Indiana was. Sometimes he would make Steve smile on those days. He told himself he was doing it to keep the town from becoming one more genre of horror movie. So that there wouldn’t be headlines and too much attention in a place that deserved none of it. It was only a coincidence that the nagging feeling in the back of his head quieted when Steve left school lighter than he had come. 

_Look at you,_ he would sometimes hear in the low tone his father used when he was teaching him a lesson, _You took him down and he wants to stay trapped. He’s pathetic. Weak._ In his head Billy, angry, careless, destructive, too good for this shit hole of a world and the people in it Billy, would turn towards the voice, nod. _Yes. That’s why I’m protecting him._

It was weird as fuck being nice to Steve Harrington. Not having the barrier of animosity and hatred to keep Billy from getting too close. But sometimes, most of the time, Billy couldn’t find it in himself to care. The creepy crawlers didn’t seem so bad when you had someone that burned brighter than fire. 

And then there was the second time he found Steve out at night. 

He was tired, overly exhausted from school, and no sleep, and watching Steve get no sleep. His bed was calling to him more than ever, a reprise from exhaustion. He had a bottle of tequila, a joint in his glove-box and a date with sweet, drug induced slumber. It felt like finally, someway he would be able to rest. 

Of course that was when his dad had been waiting for him to walk in. A lamb to slaughter. A bear to a steel trap. The phone was sitting in his dad’s hand, wire stretched to reach the way he was lazily perched on his chair. 

There was no ‘hi, hello, how are you son’. There was, “Is there something you have to tell me?”

To which Billy ducked his head dutifully, replied, “No sir,” even though they both knew there probably was. That was where the conversation ended and the punches started. He felt the hits before they came. To his stomach, his back, anywhere but his face. Invisible wounds, as Billy liked to call them.

Apparently Billy was supposed to take Max home from school today. Apparently she had been waiting for two hours before Susan was able to leave work. Apparently Billy deserved to get taken down a peg after he fucked up. 

He left with heavy limbs and aching joints. Took his keys and got the hell out of there to spend a night getting wasted enough to forget about the bruises. It wasn’t like he hadn’t slept in his car before. This was a regular Tuesday night for him, shitty father and all. 

That was when he saw Steve. 

Billy’s car had screamed against the dirt pathway, an incredible roar announcing his appearance. He hadn’t been expecting company, but then again it didn’t really surprise him that Harrington wasn’t sleeping. It was almost laughably natural the way Harrington was standing there, silhouette glowing in the car’s headlights as he gripped tightly onto that damned bat.  
Billy had almost turned around. Mostly because the bottle of jack was calling to him and he was tired, and he really, really didn’t want to face the embarrassment of Steve catching on to the pain in his ribs, but Harrington had visibly relaxed as soon as he had realized it was Billy. _Fuck it if one of their nights wasn’t gonna be made better._ He might as well make sure the idiot wasn’t thinking about ledges again. 

Billy cut the engine and hopped out of his car, blowing smoke through the side of his mouth. 

“Hey.” Harrington said lamely, almost like he didn’t have the energy to say anything at all. Billy took him in. His hair was flopping into his eyes draped with dark bags, much like the night Billy had last seen him, but he seemed somehow more lifeless. It was like the sleepless nights had finally gotten to Steve. He was conscious, but barely, all tightly coiled muscles with no energy to use.

“Hey Harrington.” Billy nodded at him, sliding closer. He was slightly worried that the older boy would fall over, not even sure how he was standing on his own. That didn’t mean he was gonna voice his worries though, and opted for a seedy taunt that generally startled a smile from Steve, “What’s a guy like you doing out here on a night like this?” 

Steve just shrugged, mouth not even twitching, the exhaustion making his body languid as he began to slump against Billy’s car with him. The heat between their shoulders sparked, igniting some sort of flame in Harrington’s eyes before they hurriedly tweaked in their sockets, taking in their surroundings. He was weirdly twitchy when he should be sound asleep.

“Smoke?” Billy offered, already handing a joint over to Steve. He took it with gracefully slender fingers, and when Steve didn’t look like he was going to say anything more Billy filled the silence for them, “Don’t necessarily wanna go home right now,” Billy shrugged. Careless, he could do careless. “Probably gonna stay out here, bum it in the car.” 

At that, Billy got a reaction, “Thats… with the woods… alone?” Steve looked bewildered. He pawed at the ground with his shoe for a second, finding absent interest in the flakes of dirt caking his laces. “I have an entire house to myself.”

“All right. Cool?”  
“I just mean... you might as well help me use it.” and then, “just for tonight,” He looked at Billy almost desperately, suddenly so young and soft. _Plant your feet._ His head screamed, but this time not at Steve. _Plant your feet._ Billy realized that Steve might need him tonight just as much as he did. Steve offered him a hesitant smile, causing the breath Billy didn’t know he had been holding to run loose, _Maybe stumbling wasn’t so bad._

As they rode home and Billy found himself relaxing in the passenger seat, the pain from his bruises dulling he couldn’t help but spare a glance at the way Steve was staring ahead, darting eyes along the sidelines of the road restlessly, “For what it’s worth,” Billy started, clasped his hands together like he was preparing himself to go to war, “I’m sorry,” 

And Steve nodded, didn’t have to ask what for and gave Billy a small, loose smile that Billy would never get tired of seeing, “it’s about time you said that Hargrove.”

And so, that was how Billy found himself sleeping in Steve Harrington’s guest room for the first time. It was almost nice enough to pretend the voice at the back of his head screaming _weak, weak, pathetic, weak,_ wasn’t even there. 

After that it became somewhat of an unspoken agreement. When Billy got suspicious bruises under the hem of his shirt and blood under his fingernails he would wordlessly climb through Steve’s coincidentally unlocked back window. Sometimes Steve would come home to find Billy passed out on his couch and when he woke up Billy would find a blanket that hadn’t been there before wrapped around his figure. When Steve would have tremors at school, pencil involuntarily skittering across the paper and a far away look in his eye, Billy would sleep in the guest room. Those nights Steve would leave his bat on the floor instead of underneath his pillow as the bags under his eyes slowly disappeared. 

Their nights together turned into more than just a coping mechanism two months after the cock blocking demodog incident, as Steve so fondly loved to call it. Billy started coming over for cigarettes and weed, thumbs touching as they passed a joint. He would let his mind wander in those rare moments, reveling in the electricity that spun through their fingertips. 

One night Billy showed up with a fifth in his hand that he had stolen from the convenience store. Steve grinned, sharp and feral like, and rushed inside to grab his own too expensive bottle. It was times like these when Billy was reminded of King Steve. Mischief glittered underneath his eyes as he led Billy through the house to the backyard and within minutes half of the tequila was gone. Billy had forgone his t-shirt, trading it with the heat of the night air. Steve was giggly, sweatshirt falling over his legs, boater shorts peeking out. For a brief moment the boy next to him let himself be pliable, submissive, waiting for Billy’s hands to mold him, protect him. Billy knew that would be a path he couldn’t come back from, blamed his impulse on alcohol, and instead of responding to the pliant curves of Steve’s person, instead of filling in the other boys weaknesses with power and anger and strength, he focused on the reflections in Steve’s pool as he dipped his toes in. Steve sat tucked safely away next to Billy, arms wrapped around his knees, and for now the solid concrete ground would have to be enough. The air around them became thicker, Billy’s drunk eyes faltering over Steve’s figure. 

Billy stood abruptly, “Goin’ for a swim.”

Steve looked up at him, sweet and too pretty in the coin colored glow of the moonlight. His lips and cheeks were flushed, rosie from the tequila, “Kay” The word trickled around Billy with a feather light touch. “Be careful.” 

In retrospect the request to take caution in a six foot deep pool should have seemed unconventional at the least. But the alcohol hummed underneath Billy’s skin and he had already started moving, running at such a fast pace towards Steve, towards this too big fire, instead of staying put. So he saluted, grinned and said, “anything for you pretty boy,” as he fell backwards. The water of the pool did nothing to douse the growing flicker of light Steve had been feeding since the night at the quarry. 

_Weak._ He heard faintly. _No._ He thought with reckless abandon. _This flame is actually pretty strong._

There was something about being together that made life manageable. Steve’s laughter was echoing through his backyard, heard even by Billy’s drowning ears. He paddled through the length of the water. When he resurfaced Steve was watching him closely, a small smile toying on the edge of his lips. The blush had spread down his neck. 

By the end of the evening Steve was lazily drifting a hand through the rippling water, watching Billy with hooded eyes as he shook drops from his ringlets. Billy had long forgotten about ever planting his feet. He was in full motion now. Burn of the fire be damned. 

A week later Steve was setting his tray down in front of Billy at lunch. And because Billy was paranoid, and had his stupid reputation to uphold he whipped his head around, spotted Nancy and the freak staring at Steve like he was dining with Hitler, and then narrowed his eyes at Steve. 

“What.” He said flatly. 

Steve flipped open a textbook in front of him, ignoring the tone of Billy’s voice like he usually did, “You’re smart right?”

Billy repeated his last sentiment, and Steve rolled his eyes. Really, they had to try to stop communicating like that or everyone was going to think they were only ever sarcastic, “C’mon don’t act like that, I see the grades you get,” Huh. Guess Billy wasn’t the only one watching. 

“Ok,” Billy picked up a fry, shoved it in his mouth and chewed with his mouth open. Steve cringed in response, “so,”

“So,” Steve drew out the word, long and low, like he wasn’t sure where to go with the rest of the sentence, “I- uh, I’m not really doing that great in my classes, and I want to be able to get into a halfway decent college so I’m not stuck here,” Billy grabbed a fry off Steve’s tray, scowling down at his hands, and Steve made an aborted movement to swat the offending hand away, “anyways, I was wondering if you could help me?” Steve leaned back a little, looked hesitant in a way Billy hadn’t seen since he let Billy in his car, “I know I’m not the best, and I’m a little,” he huffed out a self depreciating laugh, gestured a long finger to his temple, “stupid, but I’m drowning here man.” Steve finished looking down at the spot where there used to be a grease loaded fry. Billy wanted to whack the back of his head, or steal another fry, because the guy looked downright dopey when he was rejected, but instead what came out of his mouth was, 

“Alright. What class?”

Steve looked up, mouth open, the blush on his cheeks ran higher, and his eyes brightened a little, “Uh- English. We’re in the poetry unit and it’s just so-”

“Boring?”

“Yeah.” Billy laughed a little in response, pointedly ignoring the strange looks they were getting from both ends of the table. Sure they weren’t beating the shit out of each other anymore but Billy Hargrove and Steve Harrington being friends? That was practically unheard of. Whatever. 

For the remainder of their lunch period Billy uselessly poured over Steve’s homework with him, patiently stopping when he stumbled over his words, and for a moment he wondered how exactly he had gotten himself in this position. At the end of lunch, as they shoved empty wrappers in garbage bins, Steve walked a little lighter, a small echo of the confidence he used to have, and Billy felt good. 

“Thanks man,” Steve patted a hand on Billy’s shoulder, let it linger, and even Billy couldn’t deny the electric tingle the contact left behind, “seriously. I really appreciate it,” Steve’s eyes were open, vulnerable, the way they got when he was telling the truth and Billy felt something warm dislodge in his chest. 

As Steve turned to walk away Billy suddenly paused, darted a hand out but didn’t touch. Steve’s eyes fell onto rough fingers, “you’re not stupid Harrington,” Billy mumbled, then turned away before Steve could think of a response. 

“What is that?” Billy stared down at Steve’s open palm, baffled by the tiny golden key that cut into the creases of his skin. 

“And here I thought you were supposed to be the smart one,” Steve retorted and Billy responded by punching him lightly on the shoulder, “it’s a key Billy,” Billy swallowed, and tried to figure out just when Steve had stopped calling him Hargrove. 

He was quiet, poked lightly at the key and then met Steve’s eyes, “For what?”

Steve looked up at the ceiling like he was asking for patience, blew out air from his nose, and then gave Billy a look that said, _really, you’re going to make me explain this?_ “Just take it,” he pushed his hand closer into Billy’s personal space, waited, “this way you can just come in. And I can leave that fucking window locked.” 

Billy bit lightly at his lip, twitched a little against the hood of Steve’s car and then slowly took the key from Steve’s hand. He tried too hard not to feel like he was making a promise he couldn’t keep. 

Wheeler came up to him at the end of the school year and Billy had to resist bashing her head against the side of the brick gymnasium wall. He hadn’t ever hit a girl. Yet. 

She cornered him after basketball practice, when he was all sweaty and loose, spared a disgusted look at the cigarette hanging from his lips and started talking, “Why are you hanging out with Steve?” Her voice was harsh and low, almost making Billy laugh at how wildly it contrasted with her fragile bird-like appearance.

Billy leaned close, leered down at Wheeler in a way that he knew looked predatory, “Last time I checked you don’t own him,” he responded, the cigarette muffling his words a bit, before blowing out a long line of smoke in her direction. She coughed, and violently waved a hand through the air, the furrow in her brows getting a little deeper, but overwhelmingly, shockingly unfazed by his display. 

“I don’t care that you know about this town,” brown eyes darted around double checking that no one was near them and she stepped forward, unaware of just how close she was to the mouth of the beast, “I don’t care that Steve has this weird friendship going on with you. I don’t like you,” She snagged the cigarette out of his mouth before Billy could let out his next breath, threw it on the ground, and Billy clenched his fist, _hit her, hit her, hit he-_ “I care about him,” Billy scoffed, remembering the heartbroken look at Steve’s face after she had left, after she had cheated, “He’s my friend. So if you so much as look at him the wrong way,” She leaned close, and Billy felt the thrill of a fight, hot and heavy run through the space within them. For one moment Billy understood what Steve saw in her, this pale, tiny girl that was filled with determination and anger, “I will put a bullet in your head,” She finished at a whisper, no less menacing than when she was speaking with regular volume. A chill shot through Billy’s spine. He couldn’t help but believe her. 

With that she whipped her body around, let brunette curls spin lightly in the air, fair and elegant, and decidedly not what Billy would think of when he thought of the word murderous.

“I wasn’t planning on it,” Billy said finally, even though he wasn’t sure she could hear him from six feet away. Even though he wasn’t sure he trusted himself not to. Nancy kept walking. 

“Nancy talked to me,” He threw out casually. Steve was lounging on the ground, had let Billy sprawl over the couch after whining over it for a few minutes. He was all long, spidery limbs that Billy had a hard time keeping his eyes away from. An old rerun of some shitty Western was playing on the television.

Steve minutely turned his head towards Billy looking up through his lashes. The hair on one side of his head was flattened from where he had been resting it on the carpeted floor, “Huh?”

“Yeah gave me some sort of weird motherfucking shovel talk,” Billy took a drag from his cigarette, long since giving up on Steve’s pleas not to smoke in the house. It wasn’t like his parents were ever home anyways. 

Steve laughed a little at that, eyes shining, and Billy could tell he was thinking about Nancy, but for some reason he no longer had that same lovesick glint in his eyes, “that sounds like her,”

“Wanted to hit her,” Steve rolled his eyes, plucked the cigarette from Billy’s mouth much like Nancy had done, but this time Billy was more than willing to let him.

The smoke pooled out of Steve’s mouth up into his nose. Apparently Steve had also gotten the memo that his parents weren’t coming home anytime soon too, “Well I’m glad that the big bad wolf has learned self control,”

The TV set mumbled in the background and Billy let southern accents and gunshots fill the room for a moment before he spoke again. “You’re not pissed at her?”

Steve took another hit, stretched his long arms up and over his head until a muffled crack sounded from his back. Billy watched the way his shirt rode up slightly, exposing a pale expanse of skin on his stomach, “Nah. As much as I loved her, we weren’t right for each other.” Billy nodded. The conversation went quiet and they let the night fall dark outside of the window as smoke and warm lamplight filled the room. 

“C’mon,” Billy went ramrod straight, feet pulling forward in some sort of rigid line at the voice. That was Hopper. Jim Hopper. Chief of Police. The guy who could have him arrested for doing something illegal like underage drinking, for doing exactly what they had been doing for the past hour. That Hopper. Billy cursed under his breath, and snuck a glance at Steve whose expression made it look as though he was coming to a similar conclusion around the joint in his mouth. They hadn’t even had time to run before the Chief was pulling into the quarry, and slamming the door of his truck to stalk towards them. Fuck. “Really?” 

Hopper was taking in the way the two were lazily leaning against the park bench. There was a bottle of vodka on its side at their feet. Steve still hadn’t spit out that damn joint that was dangling loosely from his lips, and when he muttered out a, “shit,” it dropped onto his lap, burnt end first, startling a more emphatic curse from his mouth.

“I thought I told you to stay out of trouble Harrigton,” he turned towards Billy then who was beginning to feel the start of panic cloud his vision, “Hargrove. We both know you don’t have the best track record,” Shit. Fuck. Hopper plucked the joint out of Steve’s lap and threw it into a nearby trashcan before doing the same with the remainder of the vodka, “I can’t keep going easy on you dumbasses.” Billy’s heart jumped, took over the thoughts in his head until all he could feel was a straining blur of panic. _Don’t tell my dad, don’t tell Neil, please god don’t tell him._

“I- sorry, totally my faul-” Steve started, and Billy barely had time to think too hard about the way Steve had been willing to fall on his own sword for him, when Hopper held up a beefy hand.  
“You guys are giving me grey hairs,” He pulled back his arm to scrub the aforementioned hand across his face, looking all the bit like the tired, overworked man he was supposed to be in this town. 

Steve grinned up then, boyish and full of that chaos and impulsiveness that Billy loved getting too close to, but for once was found to be uninviting, “To be fair Hop,” Steve started, and Billy resisted the urge to punch him because he was in front of the Chief a Police, something that seemed to slip Steve’s mind as he continued to speak, “I think you had those before we met,” 

Hopper didn't yell, or whip out the handcuffs, or even make a move towards the two boys. Instead he just rolled his eyes, expression caught somewhere between annoyance and humor, “you might be right,” he responded. Billy stilled, felt the panic ease up enough to think clearly, “it’s like you’re a magnet for fucking trouble Harrington,” Billy didn’t miss the pointed look Hopper threw his way, and for a single delirious second he wanted to agree with Hopper, “I won’t keep doing this,” Hopper stated, holding a hand out and waiting until Steve fumbled around for his car keys to hand them over, but the way he was looking at Steve with something close to worry made Billy think he would keep doing it until he resigned. He watched wordlessly as Hopper spared one last hard glance over the two boys, “C’mon. I’ll drop you two asses off at home,” and walked off towards his truck. 

As the two hurriedly stumbled to get up, Billy gave in, whacked the back of Steve’s head, “What the fuck,” he hissed, and Steve looked up at him with his stupid bambi eyes just long enough for Billy to see the laughter form in his eyes. The noises that spilled from his mouth, all giggly and choking, were foreign enough to make Billy soften “what the fuck,” he repeated. Steve kept laughing.

He pushed Steve in the direction Hopper had gone, lingering just long enough to feel the laughter that Steve’s body had gone rigid with. By the time they were back at Steve’s they were decidedly more sober. Billy hadn’t even thought to question why Hopper had dropped them both off there without asking. 

A week later they got drunk. Really fucking drunk. More drunk than they had ever been in each other’s company. It had been a hard day for both of them, Steve had gone to school with a dark mess under both eyes, and a pair of pajama pants on like he hadn’t remembered he was supposed to change before he left his house. He didn’t eat his lunch, fell asleep in their shared chemistry class, and almost drove into the side of Tommys prius when he accidentally put his car in reverse. 

So Billy ushered him into his own car, ignored Steve’s questioning look at the deep cut that felt heavy across Billy’s brow, and took him home. They opened up a fifty year old bottle of whiskey, Steve’s dad wouldn’t be there to use it for at least another month, and by that time he would have bought at least four more. Joint in hand, and a half empty fifth, the two laid carelessly on Steve’s hardwood floor, a small fire that they had argued over making crackling in the fireplace, spreading a soft glow over the curve of Steve’s bare ankles. 

Indiana Jones was playing softly on the screen to their left. Steve was holding his head at an awkward angle, hovering close to Billy’s right hand to watch. Billy had no idea what the other boy’s obsession was with cowboys, but he enjoyed the comforting cold pool of the television light mixing with the warm smoke coming from the fire. 

Suddenly, like he didn’t really mean to speak, Steve breathed out a, “he’s hot,” and _oh_ eyes hooked on the way Harrison Ford was slicked with water, then darted those same wide eyes at Billy like he was preparing for judgement day. Billy felt around his own tongue, sounded out several sentences that didn’t sound right, tamped down on the urge to jerk away, and instead felt some unknown force pulling his hand an inch closer to where Steve’s face was propped on a bent hand. 

“Yeah.” He whispered. And that was that. The two boys stared at each other for a moment longer, neither wanting to break what had just been admitted. Steve turned his attention back to where Indiana Jones was reaching towards a crystal skull. 

“Harrison Ford.” Steve finally let trickle out of his mouth, and giggled, almost as if he was unaware of the tension. Billy couldn’t help the small huff of laughter that came out in response. Welcome to Hawkins Indiana. Middle of bumfuck nowhere. Home of two boys with hard-ons for fedoras, and rough, dirty hands. He took a drag from the joint they were sharing, and then turned fully on his side, placing his back towards the television screen. Though lidded from substances Steve’s eyes were bright, holding Billy’s attention with the same captivating intensity Steve used to watch the darkness. He silently let the other boy reach out a careful hand to tap lightly at the cut that had since gone numb. 

“Your dad did that,” he said it as a statement rather than a question. Billy stilled, tried to stop the incessant pounding of his heart that came not from Steve’s accusation but from the way the other boy hadn’t yet pulled away. Before he would have hunched his shoulders up, snarled vicious and mean, and paired a heavy fist with defensive words. Before he would have heard _weak, pathetic,_ and let it fill a bucket of water so big that Steve would drown. But now, seeing the way Steve’s eyes weren’t pitying but tired, how his hand wasn’t worrying but resigned on his brow bone, he didn’t just get closer to the flame, instead he turned the bucket towards him and let his own flame become doused, filled his own lungs with seawater. _Fire and water don’t mix,_ he heard the voice in his head say, _what are you doing?_ It hissed, _one can’t survive with the other, he’ll hurt you, hurt you, weak, pathetic, weak._ He smothered the voice, flooded it with hope and light and thought about the sound of moving water. 

“Yeah.” He breathed out, felt the word like a punch to his gut, and by the look on Steve’s face he did too. 

“What a pair we make,” Steve responded, eyes not leaving Billys. 

_“Isn’t it pretty Billy? Isn’t it beautiful?”_

_Beside him a woman clothed in a loose white dress was twirling around on the soles of her feet. Her hair was long, messy and blonde, the perfect backdrop for tanned skin and light eyes. “Look how beautiful.” She pointed an ethereal, spindly arm towards the sea. Nearby the bonfire seemed to flash brighter against the backdrop of the setting sun, “let’s make it bigger,” she giggled and started piling another log on top. The fire pulsed in tandem with the sun as it started sprinkling remnants of light over the ocean. For a moment Billy was nervous, watching the way her hands disappeared behind smoke, almost like the fire was calling to her, wanting more, wanting to burn. A long, crooning wave reached towards the sky, stretched and fell, mingling with the licking flames of the fire, and the sun finally broke through the haze. Billy watched as it melted into the ocean in front of him._

_She looked back at him then, noted the way he was tensing as the flame grew and stopped herself from grabbing more wood. Almost instantly the hissing crackle quieted, the sun overtook the water, gloriously intense, and then disappeared, “the sun’s always the brightest thing,” she says, pats lightly at his head._

Billy woke up the next morning with an arm wrapped solidly around Steve’s form. He slowly unwrapped himself, refusing to look back at the young, vulnerable expression on Steve’s sleeping face as he stumbled towards the coffee pot. The fireplace held nothing but ashes. Outside the sound of raindrops pelted the sides of Steve’s house. _Fire and water? No. Steve wasn’t fire. He wasn’t raging and burning and destructive. He was bigger, brighter, softer._ He poured a cup, hardly flinching when a trickle of brown liquid spilled onto bare skin and watched as the rain continued to fall outside of Steve’s kitchen windows. 

_How had Billy ever compared him to a flame when the stars existed?_

_“I’ve never seen anything more beautiful than the sun and the sea,” the woman said, and then turned to him. He could see himself in the set of her face and the strength of her pulsating heartbeat. “If you’ll be my ocean,” She kneeled down now, taking Billy’s hands in his, “I’ll be the light that keeps it moving,”._ Billy choked on a sob, wiped a hand across his face only to pull it away wet and took a sip of his coffee. Finally, abruptly, the voice in his head was blissfully, astoundingly silent.

_“Don’t worry. The sea never has to wait long before the sun rises.”_

“Why are you being so nice lately?” Max flung the door of his Camaro open, making Billy cringe at the harsh creaking sound it made. 

“Be fucking careful,” he growled, and then, “what?”

“Nice,” she repeated impatiently, “You’re being nice. I didn’t even think that word was in your vocabulary,” 

And because Billy was hotheaded and immature, he sped the car up too quickly, “it’s not,” 

“You replaced my skateboard,” she pointed out, sticking a hand up and keeping track of her thoughts on small fingers painted with chipped purple polish, “you don’t get mad when you have to pick me up or take me places,” another finger shot up, “you hang out with Steve and he looks like he actually enjoys spending time with you,” another digit raised, “you made me dinner,” 

“Hot pockets don’t count as dinner,” Billy mumbled, but Max continued,

“I don’t get why you’re so set on trying to be an asshole,” She dropped her hand, settled back into her seat, more comfortably than she had ever looked around him. She was surprisingly fearless, reaching out to fiddle with the stereo and put on a sweet sultry tune rather than the raucous rock that had been previously playing. Billy just barely managed to stop himself from tapping a foot along to it. He spared a glance at the head topped with a wild red, the ferocious glint in her eyes, and felt his heart tug at the way she looked so much like him in the assertive way she held her head, unable to back down from a challenge. She was almost always angry and spitting, like a feral cat, but she had a softness about her that reminded Billy of his mother. 

“Whatever,” He ignored the barely there crinkle of her eyes that meant she knew that whatever was his way of saying, _I’m sorry and thanks for letting me be an asshole._ Afterall Hargroves were nothing if not well informed on defensive mechanisms and overcompensation. Billy pulled the car into their driveway, turned the steering wheel carefully, safely, and shut off the engine. Max didn’t move to reach for the handle, and gave him a calculated, almost unsettling look. 

“I think I can try to like having you as my brother,” She said casually, like he hadn’t made a mess of both of their lives, like he hadn’t been some terrifying, murderous monster once upon a time. He thought of a bat between his legs, and her strange aptitude for reading people. He thought of how she had to grow up too quickly like he did, how she would never startle when Neil raised his voice, and how he hoped she never would. Max let him ponder her words for a moment before she wedged a hand around the handle, pulled and slid out of the car, waiting for Billy to do the same. There was a cacophony of two slamming doors following close behind. They walked towards their house, Billy letting Max guide the way, because she was nothing if not self assured, a leader, he thought briefly, wondering when he had started regarding her with anything other than contempt. 

Before they stepped through the threshold of their house, the very place where he took punches as often as he took pulls from cigarettes, the place where he had learned to revel in fear in anger, the place where he knew Max listened to his whimpers like they were radio static, the place where he grew sharp teeth and claws to protect him from feeling and not caring who he hurt on his path if destruction, he paused. He was a tornado that tore down houses and ruined lives, but she, this girl that was turning the knob with straight shoulders, carrying secrets and loss and never showing her weaknesses was a tsunami. Relentless and harsh and carving out new land only to replace it with budding flowers and fertilized soil. He had never taken the time to note the similarities between their personalities, to understand that the forces of nature separating, categorizing them were both caused by wind. She was as determined as he was to force her own way in life, to control the world around her, and so for once he let go of the reigns, let her take him and pull him towards the unfamiliar comfort of family. 

It felt an awful lot like he was taking a sledgehammer to the walls he had so carefully built when he said, “you’re not too bad yourself,” but it earned him a small, sweet, smile the one his mother used to give him, and he was struck by the revelation that he wished she had shared that side of him instead. He took a breath, like he was stuttering around the very thought of letting someone else get close enough to understand him. He thought of Steve and how he would smack the back of his head, tell him to be nice, and then decided better of it. He didn’t earn his reputation by being nice, “even if you are a little shithead of a sister,” 

The responding laugh was answer enough to know that maybe Steve had gotten through to him. A little bit. 

Billy spent the summer working as a lifeguard at the local pool. It was hot, and sticky and everything the winter wasn’t. He had never really had to get the grasp of such an abrupt change of weather, the way the snow morphed into patronizing, sweltering heat. Steve started working at the ice cream place in the mall. He wore a dorky little costume and an even dorkier hat and Billy had a hell of a time flipping him off from across the building and cackling. He didn’t ever really visit the stand because he didn’t ever crave ice cream enough to cheat on his diet of illegal substances and cigarettes. It wasn’t because of the way Steve’s shorts looked on him and how much better they would look off. 

This weird, hesitant introduction into the facets of Harrington's life started coming to a head when Steve finally breached the unspoken line, came to the pool and whipped off his clothes like he wanted the sun to burn him. He flashed Billy a cocky grin before returning to the edge of the water. Feet dangling, Steve watched as a crew of the idiots he babysat did cannonballs and other things Billy should probably be yelling at them for. The curly headed one dunked the Wheeler kid underneath the surface. Billy blew his whistle.

“Hey dumbasses!” A few of the older women lounging around on the other side pulled down their sunglasses to watch Billy as he climbed down from his post, the three boys in the pool looked at him hesitantly, “try not to fucking drown eachother, huh?” Billy said instead of, _fucking shitheads get the hell out,_ instead of, _sorry I almost killed you._

Steve grinned, and ironically stood to push Dustin back into the pool from where he was opening his mouth to complain, “Listen to the lifeguard idiots,” he drawled, then settled back into his chair and scratched a lazy hand across his chest. 

From over the orchestra of dripping, splashing water Billy heard a light voice call out a, “Sorry Billy,” and startled, he turned to see the smallest of the group, the Byers kid, smiling shyly at him. They resumed their horseplay, being a little bit more careful this time and Billy itched for a cigarette, but said nothing more. If one of them drowned that was on Harrington. He wasn’t their fucking babysitter. 

Billy would argue, but after that he became decidedly less threatening towards Steve's makeshift household. In fact he went so far as to _apologize._ He was back at the freaks- the Byers he reprimanded, refusing to note the way his perception of the group had changed, waiting for Max to get done with god knows what dorky shit they were doing. He knocked carefully on the door and Joyce Byers, opened it. 

“Here to pick up Max?” She let the door fall wide, gesturing him in with a soft crinkle of her eyes.

“Uh- yeah. Actually all of them,” he thought of Steve back at his house sleeping on the couch, and vaguely wondered if he should have made him wake up, if maybe this had been a bad idea. But then he thought of the exhausted slur of Steve’s words, and the lack of sleep he had so clearly been having, “Steve won’t be here,” He expected some form of protest but instead Joyce just smiled, and opened the door wider. 

Billy hesitated a bit, but before he could back up and return to the safety of his car, she cocked her head to the side and decided his next action for him, “come on in. They’re just finishing up their game,” Billy swallowed, stared blankly at the inside of their house. It was warm, and smelled like someone had been making cookies. He gingerly stepped inside, uncertain of the way Joyce was inviting him past the protection of four standing walls, regarding him with all the kindness of an old friend. Really, these people needed a better sense of self preservation. 

From deeper within the house he heard high pitched shouting, the telltale sign of some dumb argument between the kids. He didn’t know what to do with his hands, and went to shove them deep within his pockets before Joyce was suddenly offering him a cigarette, leaning back against her kitchen counter with her own between two fingers. She stared, unfazed by the way he loomed, bulky over her, “Don’t tell them,” she jerked a head towards where the noise was coming from, and they listened briefly as the sound of something crashed to the floor, “I know it’s a bad habit but it calms the nerves,” She shuffled around in a few of the cabinets before pulling out a lighter and flicking it over the butt of her smoke, then handed it to Billy. 

“Thanks,” he said as he lit his own. 

They were quiet for a moment, letting the tingle of nicotine and tar fill their throats. Billy took a moment to look around the room, eyes catching on what looked like a crude blue scribble hanging from a piece of curling tape in the corner. The edges were grungy with time, like the paper had been left there as an afterthought and forgotten. “Max talks a lot about you,” Joyce had settled down onto a chair that looked seconds away from falling apart, smoke staining her words with a rasp Billy knew well. Distantly, over his own surprise at the statement, he heard Max bark out one of the boys' names followed by a resounding squawk. Joyce smiled, and shook her head, “she’s a good kid,” 

Billy couldn’t bring himself to face Joyce and her calm niceness, opting to watch the stream of grey blow from his own mouth, “she is,” Billy responded, still feeling awkward at the unwarranted conversation Joyce was offering him. He had always liked Joyce, even though her kid went crazy. She was strong willed and prepared to do just about anything for her family, a service he couldn’t help but assume was extended towards Max. Lately it seemed a commonality for Billy to find himself surrounded by independent and determined women.

“She mentioned that you’ve been spending a lot of time with Steve,” Joyce said suddenly, and Billy coughed on the smoke in his mouth. He prepared himself to fire back, to tell her that Max should keep her mouth shut, but something in the firm line of her mouth that was slowly curving upward made him stop. His heart thumped, once, twice, loudly, and he almost worried that she could hear it before he realized the thought was ridiculous, “I know we don’t know each other too well Billy, but you’re a part of this.” She gestured around the tiny room with her cigarette, hand stalling a bit at the dark edges of it, “I’m a mother first.” She continued, setting her face, and snubbing the smoke on a tray, “and I don’t like what happened between you and those kids,” Billy tensed, moved back in the line of the front door as if he could make a run for it even if her stare didn’t hold him in place, “But you’re a kid too,” Billy opened his mouth to argue but she held out a stern hand to stop him, “I just want to let you know that if you ever need a place to stay- if you can’t reach Steve for some reason,” She stood up then and took the smoke from Billy’s hands, snuffing it out too, and then forced him to meet her eyes, “you can come here,” Billy wanted to laugh, wanted to turn towards the door and respond with a flippant, 'I don’t need your pity'. But the woman’s eyes were genuine, big, like Steve’s, and he was reminded of California, the sound of waves growing, building to crash on pebbled sand only to meet the shore in a hushed promise of security. He nodded, “Sounds like they’ve finished,” she stowed the pack of cigarettes and the lighter back in it’s hiding place, looked back at the room that the kids were beginning to spill from, making it hard for Billy to ignore the extra body that trailed ahead. 

The curly kid- Dustin, stopped when he saw Billy, face getting red and pinched, before Max shoved at his shoulder, “what is he doing here?”

Max in all of her stubborn glory simply pushed at his arm again, “What do you think doofus? He’s picking me up.” She looked around, “Steve’s not here yet?” 

Billy shifted his weight, said, “he’s busy,” leaving off the part where he didn’t have the heart to rouse the other boy, that he in fact, had practically forced Steve to stay home after the boy had uselessly and blurrily tried to push himself off the couch, “I have enough room in my car,” he continued taking care not to blatantly provide his service, but letting them know he could, that he would, that it was the best choice.

“But- El,” The Wheeler kid was whining, panicked and for the first time Billy was able to get a real look at the new addition to the group with dark curls that Wheeler was currently trying to nudge behind him. So this was El. The girl with the superpowers. She was staring at him blankly, and Billy thought he could feel the air around him getting tighter, goosebumps prickling at the back of his neck. Fucking Hawkins. 

Dustin took a step backwards toward the room he had come from, “I’m waiting for Steve,” he said childishly. El tilted her head at Dustin, then resumed her unnerving focus on Billy. 

“He’s not coming,” Billy ground out through his teeth, caught a smothered grin from Joyce that she managed to morph into a look of encouragement, “just let me take you home.” He finished, and then because he was an asshole, “I promise I’ll try not to strangle you,” 

Dustin made a choked noise, and both Lucas and the Wheeler kid looked horrified, but the girls were all looking at him with mirth in their expression. 

“He’s joking,” Max stated with a roll of her eyes, and then pushed through the front door without checking to make sure her friends were following, “C’mon, I get shotgun.” She threw a careless wave behind her head, “Bye Will! Bye Ms. Byers,” 

From behind him Billy heard a mutter, “as if anyone would argue with that,” and didn’t need to turn to know it had come from Dustin. He clenched a fist but the action felt like it was lacking heat, and he watched as El looked down at it for a moment without concern. He swore he could feel his brain pulse when she met his eyes again. After a stiff moment in the foyer El turned, grabbed the Wheeler kids hand, waved at the Byers, and wordlessly followed the beacon that was MadMax. The others were less eager, but it seemed that once El had made a decision they all tended to agree. 

Billy couldn’t help but feel like was ten years younger, dumbly trailing behind his sister like the others all had. He straightened his jacket, at the last minute stopping in the doorway. 

“Thanks for-” He paused noticing her kid standing next to her, smiling shyly at Billy, and remembered her request not to bring up her smoking habit, “Thanks, Ms. Byers,” and the fond, simple expression on her face simply grew. The little Byers kid, Will? Gave him a small wave. Billy smelled salt and wind, and for the first time since he had learned Hawkins secrets he felt the dark cavern in his stomach torched by something that felt a lot like safety. 

“Please. Call me Joyce.” She said, before he closed the door softly behind him.

The raucous of the kids from the Byers home had moved to his camaro and he watched for a second as Dustin jammed his feet up onto clean leather and the Wheeler kid saturated the backseat window with his own breath to draw a smiley face in the clouded space. _A fucking smiley face._ He shot a quick plea up towards the sky, willed himself not to go back on the promise he had made moments ago and walked towards his car. 

As soon as he got in the car went silent. He could hear Wheeler scrubbing a shirt sleeve over the window, growled out a, “get your feet off my fucking seat,” not sparing the time to look back at Dustin as he turned the key in the ignition. They pulled onto the road, and Billy could practically feel the palpable fear of each person, reminded of the trapped, caged feeling he had when Joyce had mentioned Steve. He sighed, turned the volume on the stereo down, and waited for someone to speak.

Dustin broke first. He kind of figured he would. He was never quite sure how Steve and the kid got along so well. The two of them could talk for hours about absolutely nothing, and it was hard to believe that either of them would give the other time to get a word in, “I just want to let you all know that I don’t like this,”

“Shut up Dustin,” Lucas seethed, horror apparent in his face from the look he shot towards Billy. Their eyes connected above Billy in the rearview mirror, “he’ll get mad,” he was whispering now, in the overexaggerated way that kids often do. Combined with the soft croon of music and the small volume of his car gave the group little room for privacy and Billy could easily make out the hissed argument. Billy had to take a moment to scrunch his eyes together in exasperation. _Fucking Steve and his dumbass nightmares. Fucking Steve and his dumbass kids._

“Do you really think I would try anything when there’s some random girl with superpowers sitting back there?” He interrupted after one particularly loud ‘oh my god he’s going to kill us’ said it like he was at his wits end, gruff and in a way that he hoped would shut them up but both Dustin and Wheeler became effectively more irritated.

“Steve told you about that?” The two boys spoke at the same time, and the combined verbalization of their shock was squeaky, loud enough that it made Billy twitch irritably and the car swerved just slightly. Max swatted a hand against Dustin’s which was now placed on top of her seat as he leaned forward. 

“He’s driving,” she chided, and Billy took that as his que to berate them even further. 

“Are you dumb? Were you not conscious for that entire conversation? Did you miss out on the giant lizard that hit my car?” He turned a corner, nearing into the Wheeler residence, “Yeah Harrington told me,” 

In the backseat the strange girl’s lips quirked up, animating her features into a hopeful, supportive expression and he tried not to think about how odd it looked on her young face, “it’s okay,” She spoke for the first time, once again breaking a series of hushed complaints. Her voice was soft, and simple and exactly how Billy had expected it, almost as devoid of emotion as her body language. He watched her lightly touch each of the boys in the backseat, “we can trust him,” He had to stifle his own smirk, and duck his head towards the road as Wheeler Jr. whipped his head around to stare at her. More than one set of eyes were popping, faces sporting looks that varied from horror to disbelief.

“But-” Wheeler started then seemed to think better of it, when El narrowed her eyes. Billy didn’t blame him. The girl was terrifying. 

And she was now, once again, silently regarding Billy, making him feel like he was being catalogued. Something about the strange way she was nodding along to the soft music, fuck you ACDC is always better than ABBA Steve, eyes trained on the back of his head, made him open his mouth before he even had time to think to shut it, “for what it’s worth,” his face was resolutely placed towards the road, “I’m sorry,” _I’m sorry for scaring you. I’m sorry I found out. I’m sorry you didn’t kill all the monsters in the Byer’s house that night._ The words trailed off into silence, not quite enough but a start. 

Billy stopped the car in front of the Wheeler’s house, letting the engine stall to peer at the four kids smushed into his backseat. He wondered what Steve would say, if he would be just as shocked as them at his apology. Lucas looked at Max then back at him and hesitantly gave him a slight smile, that made Billy’s heart plunge. Dustin folded his arms over his chest and sniffed haughtily but as the Wheeler kid opened the car door he swore the kid gave him a barely discernible nod. He figured that both the gesture and the lack of threats he refrained from throwing Billy’s way as he stood was the closest thing to forgiveness he was going to get. Billy watched him walk in, and above a set of curtains on the second floor opened, exposing Nancy’s mop of curls and rounded features. He idly wondered if their mother was home, cringing a little bit at what he had almost gone through with months ago. What he probably would have gone through with if the supernatural hadn’t been a huge cockblock. He heard a small huff of laughter behind him, and was unsurprised to realize that it came from El. 

After he had dropped off Dustin and Lucas, each stop becoming more exhausting by the second, he found himself being cautiously directed through a winding maze of woods that led to the Chief of Police. Once again the sentiment of, fucking Hawkins, resonated in his head. 

“I like this song,” El spoke again, simple and plain and so suddenly that Billy had to resist jolting his head back. He turned the volume up and barely caught the words, “don’t be nervous. Jim likes you,” before Dancing Queen was filling the car, the woods, scattered by Max’s quite frankly awful singing voice and smug smile. 

When they arrived the Chief was waiting, and offered Billy a statement of gratitude for getting his kid home safe. He had waved the thanks off silently, and turned to place a hand on the passenger seat to look behind him but before he could put the car in reverse El was at his window, tapping at the glass to be rolled down. He did. 

He waited for her to talk, let her squint as she looked into his eyes, and readied himself for whatever came next; a refusal of his apology, a threat, or maybe, if he was lucky, a simple thanks. Instead what he got was so unexpected that his mouth nearly dropped open, 

“You are good Billy Hargrove,” She nodded once, so seriously that Billy almost thought she was reading from one of those stupid fact sheets at school, “I like you,” then she pressed a feather light touch to the tip of his nose and followed the Chief inside of their small cabin. Billy blushed, and didn’t smack Max’s hand away when she went to turn the dial up as the opening notes to Chiquitita played instead mumbling out, 

“Not a word,” and turning the car around to drop the last of Steve’s girl scout troop at home. 

By the time he reached his own house it was nine o’clock. He parked, offered a nudge toward the house, and Max unbuckled, “You going to Steve’s tonight?” Max asked even though they both already knew the answer from the way the living room light was reflecting Neils silhouette through the window. He nodded and she looked at him for a second, as if she was finally, really seeing him for the first time, “I’ll cover for you,” She didn’t pause to see what he would say to her. It was the first time either of them had acknowledged Neil, always too busy tiptoeing around their house to try to care about their emotions. 

Suddenly, Max shot forward, the clang of the seatbelt slinging off of the lap where it had been resting, hitting the side of his car, and Billy had a wriggly armful of fourteen year old girl. He was bundled in what had to be the world’s most uncomfortable embrace, all frizzy hair and too much pressure, but he felt his own arms wrap around her in response, “She’s right you know.” Max whispered, softly and almost broken, like she was trying to hold him together, “You’re good,” and like that Max was moving away, hurriedly getting out of the car in light of her unnatural display of affection. 

Billy didn’t break the speed limit once on the way to Steve’s and pretended that the tight lump in his throat was from smoking one too many cigarettes. 

When he got there he let himself in, softly shook Steve awake, and almost laughed at the muffled, “huh?” he was rewarded with. In response to Steve’s blearly confusion, and hazy eyes just bordering the edge of the conscious realization that he had forgotten something Billy shushed him and spoke, 

“Nah. Sleep more, I took all your dumbass kids home,” Steve sighed contentedly, let his eyes close and lilted his mouth up in a grateful smile before burrowing deeper into his cocoon of blankets. Billy noted the awkward way his head rested on the edge of the cushion, and winced, almost speaking up to tell Steve to go sleep in his own goddamn bed, but then finding himself overcome with his own exhaustion flopped onto the recliner nearby. He tried not to think about how domestic the conversation was, how even the way he settled easily into the grooves of Steve’s house was oddly reminiscent of an old married couple. 

“Thnks. Di- you mee- El?” came garbled from behind several layers of cloth. 

“Yeah.” Billy answered. 

“Hmm.”

“She said she liked me,” the end of his statement tilted up like a question. 

“Oh,” Even though Billy could hardly see Steve’s face he could hear the grin, “‘re stuck wi- us now,” 

For some reason, Billy didn’t seem to have much of a problem with that. 

In the weeks that followed Billy found himself increasingly and incredulously surrounded by a gaggle of children. He had somehow, in between his shitty apology, and Steve’s insistently embarrassing and odd ability to praise the hell out of Billy’s scowly demeanor became designated driver number two. Dustin still refused to ride with him most of the time, unless he absolutely had to, but Wheeler (Mike, he now knew) and Lucas had begrudgingly come to accept his position in the group. He liked Will the best, something he would have pinched himself over a year ago, but the kid was quiet and nice and always had manners no matter how awful of a mood Billy was in. Oftentimes Billy would find himself pulled into arcade games, playing skeeball with the kids, and beating them so horribly that they had started resigning themselves to losing before they even walked in the building. He drew the line at participating in dungeons and dragons, but on the nights when he had to pick Max up and Steve was already there, he pulled the older boy into a corner for a smoke. Sometimes when he looked at Steve, and found the other boy looking back he thought the world around them would get a little fuzzier, softer at it’s sharp angles. But then Mike would start hitting Lucas on the back of the head, or Max would shoot a spitball at Mike, and Steve would be up, pulling them off of each other. 

In those moments Billy would almost always feel another pair of eyes on him, a streak of goosebumps threading over his skin. 

“You like Steve,” El had said to him once, quietly, so that only he could hear, after he had forgotten that staring at the other boys lips around a straw wasn’t the correct etiquette. He sputtered on his own drink, knocking it over, which only caused everyone at the table to give him a look of bewilderment, and Steve to fuss over the mess. El giggled, patted a small hand on the crest of his knee and said, “I like Steve too.” Billy told himself that the way they regarded Steve was the same. An ally, a warm home to go to, comfort. He figured El was the only other person who knew just how much he was lying to himself. 

The next morning Billy woke up wrapped over Steve on the other boy’s couch. It was early enough to watch the sunrise but oddly enough, Billy thought the view from where he had woken was just as, if not more beautiful. 

“The Chief wants to have us over for dinner.” 

“Huh?”

“The Chief? You know, Jim Hopper. Big guy,” Steve sliced at the open air above his head, “carries a gun, caught us smoking pot that one time?” Billy rolled his eyes and continued shoving a sandwich into his mouth, “he wants to have us over for dinner,”

“Make it sound more like we’re a couple, huh Stevie?” Billy mumbled through a mouthful of bread. Steve blushed and Billy was kind enough to ignore it, “why the fuck does he want to have us over for dinner?”

Steve shrugged, “I dunno,” Steve stabbed at a rolling piece of led that was scuffing the pages of his textbook absentmindedly, “El keeps asking,” 

“El,” Billy said flatly, a little dumbly, “Eleven keeps asking for us to have dinner with her and the chief,” he repeated, like he was asking for verification.

Steve responded nonchalantly not even looking up from his book and instead taking the time to glare down at a specifically long problem, “hey, I’m just the messenger don’t blame me,” abruptly Steve pushed away from the table and scrubbed at his hair, “fuck me,” he flipped the book closed, “I’m never going to get this shit,” he stood, chair scraping on linolium floor and moved to lean against the counter next to Billy.

Billy scowled, “I’m not going to dinner with the Chief,” 

“Oh yes you are,”

“I’m not.”

“Yes.”

“Steve.”

“Billy.” Steve grabbed a chip from Billy’s plate, ignoring his squawk of protest, “even I know you would never say no to El.” 

Billy shoved the last bite of his dinner into his mouth, taking precise measures to spray crumbs over Steve’s extended hand because he knew it would gross him out, “fuck you. Fine.”

Steve cheered, threw two fist over his head and Billy hid his smile with a roll of his eyes, “That’s the attitude,” Steve leaned closer then, shadow darkening the edges of the empty plate between then until he was inches away from Billy’s face, “now,” he said darkly, leering. Billy swallowed, “am I gonna have to beg or are you up to a little physics?”

Billy brought a hand to Steve’s face and shoved him away, watching the way he flailed backwards idignantly, “you know I’m starting to think you don’t bring anything to the table in this fucking thing,” Billy gestured between the two of them, letting his hand drop on the open space of the countertop. He looked up at Steve’s who was crafting his expression into one of dejected innocence, and let out a long suffering sigh, before he stood to grab Steve’s stupidly heavy book. 

Steve brightened quickly, proudly retorting back with, “Lies,” he dug a hand in his pocket to reveal a crisply rolled joining, “I bring the booze and the weed,” 

Billy watched Steve flick a lighter and thought that Steve brought the sunrise with him too, “Shut up and tell me what unit you’re on dumbass,” he said.

They ended up at the Chiefs house on a Wednesday night.

“Relax man,” Steve had said, patted Billy a little too gently on the back, shut the passenger side door, “Hopper’s a nice guy,” 

Billy took care to make sure the petulant, “yeah, until he throws you in the bin,” was mostly unheard, and slammed his own door closed. 

The cabin was resolutely small, only three rooms, one of which was given privacy from a thin curtain. The dining table barely fit all four of them, and Billy had to wedge in next to Steve so close that their thighs were pressed together in one long line. Billy ignored the heat coming from the other boy to instead scratch lightly at his plate with his fork. Up until then the meal had been awkward and tense, spare Steve’s light babbling at how good the food was (not mentioning the charred pieces of broccoli) and asking Hopper too invasive questions about his job. El was smiling warmly at Steve, but Hopper and Billy both looked as if they would rather be anywhere that wasn’t there. 

Suddenly a bony elbow nudged Hopper’s side, none too kindly, and he was yelping at the small girl. El glared at the Chief, gave a motion as if she were prompting him to speak. From next to him Billy heard Steve snort into his fork, 

“Uh-” Hopper cleared his throat, leveled Billy with a determined gaze, “I hear you’re getting pretty good grades,” Billy shifted, certain he looked the very definition of uncomfortable.

“I- yes sir,” El resumed to paste that same small smile on her face as she glanced between Hopper and Billy. Steve was wearing a similar expression. 

“Please, call me Jim,” Hopper waved a nonchalant hand Billy’s way, but the serious tone of his voice gave away the fact that he meant the sincerity of the statement. It reminded Billy too much of the way Joyce extended that same offer of familiarity, “and I’ve also heard you’re decent with the sports,” 

“Yes si- Jim,” Hopper was relaxing back, taking the mirthful glint to El’s eyes well, finally shifting a bit into the conversation. Billy recognized many characteristics of the Chief; the heavy set to his shoulders, the way he would let others' discussions fold around him rather than into him. It was the traits of a man who understood chaos, who saw the very worst of what the word could be and felt it just the same. It was the backbone of men who held grudges, privacy, trust in just as high regard as one would gold. 

“We’ve got a couple positions open at the office, just something to help organize this shitshow,-” Hopper pointedly crossed his arms across his body, swiveled his torso as if to show off the world around them, “and you,” he picked up his half empty tumbler, “you know more about it than most people here. Come down by the station and just look around sometime, huh,” He took a deep sip. Billy couldn’t bring himself to look up but he could feel the way the air suddenly locked in place. Somewhere, above him in this strange life that had been built from black skies and monsters and too nice people, El was throwing a satisfied smirk towards the Chief and Steve was biting at his cheeks like he wanted this more than Billy. But down here Billy was taking a breath, reveling in the way his cheeks got warm and heavy with each puff, waiting for the words in his mind to hit him, to invade the static of hope and a future with burning fire. Instead it was silent. 

He felt a light touch at his shoulder that he didn’t have to move to recognize as Steve’s. For a second he forgot who he was, almost let go of the struggle to hold onto this dumb place filled with fantasies and snap, like the old Billy would have. The old Billy who would have rejected the Chief’s offer, would have spat out something insulting, something about not needing help and that just because he hadn’t beat the shit out of Steve lately didn’t mean they could invade on his life, fill the pores up like they were never even there. But something held him back, kept him grounded. Maybe it was the demodogs waiting just outside the seconds of this moment or maybe it was the way El was looking at him like she knew what she was thinking, that she understood it. Maybe it was just the gun in the Chief’s pocket. For some reason, a reason that no one will ever be able to figure out, Billy nodded, smiled, just barely but still so unlike himself, and let himself speak down, privately, to the table, “that doesn’t sound half bad,” _Thankyou._

He looked up. Steve was giving him a gummy smile, and for once Billy didn’t really feel the need to slap it off of him. There was too much he could see of the set of the sun to feel like he was finally not pretending. Here, he wasn’t a monster. Here, he was just a kid who thought there was finally a way to look at your life and want to live. 

Billy would refuse to say they were friends. He didn’t have friends. Hell, he was hesitant to say he even had a family. But then again, he had never had someone like Steve invade his life so easily. 

That’s why when Dustin showed up on his doorstep with a tiny, fit in the palm of his hand, little girl he barely even hesitated after the kid had mentioned the name, ‘Steve’ and the word ‘trouble’ in the same sentence. Within minutes they were all tucked into Billy’s Camaro, the curly headed kid barking directions at him through his lisp. If you had told Billy Hargrove a summer ago that he would have two random kids caking the interior of his car in mud and telling him what to do he would have thought it was the funniest joke he had ever heard. But now, with the thought of Steve being hurt and alone he didn’t give a shit about how the interior of his car looked.

**Author's Note:**

> Still another chapter to upload and hopefully soon!! hope u guys like it so far!


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